Seven For A Secret Never To Be Told
by INeedTea260
Summary: 8-year-old Richard Poole had never wanted to go to boarding school. But life wasn't all too bad. Contradicting to the actual series and timeline/chronology. (Some ideas from DiP book 2: The Killing of Polly Carter and this completely just my own story NOTHING IS PROVEN THAT IS WHAT THE GOVERNMENT WANT YOU TO THINK)
1. Silence

The bar was a hive for activity. The constant chatting was muffled, but it didn't silence rang through the room a couple seconds later. No one dared to move.

A figure, whose face was masked by a fedora and was almost fully hidden by a long grey trenchcoat, strode through the wooden double doors. Everyone stared at them as they drew out a stool and beckoned to the bartender.

"Usual?" they nodded. The bartender slid a mug across the bar's surface and the mysterious person caught it, cupping a pallid hand around it. They took a sip and finished with a satisfied sigh, placing the mug back on the surface. Another man, dressed in a bright red Hawaiian shirt with khaki shorts, sidled next to him.

"You too?" the other man didn't even acknowledge the other's question or even his prescence and continued to stare ahead;

"So, tell me the story," the second man beckoned to the bartender for a beer. The other shrugged. "What brought 'ya here?" the man in the trenchcoat removed his fedora, revealing smooth yet messy brown hair and bright green eyes. He still didn't look at the guy next to him.

"Wait... Don't tell me. I want to guess-"

"Quit mucking about, Charlie." his voice was coarse. Charlie leaned away a bit, giving the man puppy eyes. "Fine. Stabbed. Ice pick. Done and dusted." they hissed before taking another sip from their mug and slamming it on the table.

"Hang on," Charlie clapped his hands together. "You're the guy who 'solved his own murder', right?" the man was rather taken aback.

"They really say that?" they was a small sparkle of disbelief - in his eye. Charlie shrugged.

"Whats your name, anyway. Never seemed to catch it." he held out a hand.

"Richard. Richard Poole."

* * *

Guess this was ok, for how short it is.

I hope so, anyway!


	2. The Good Man

Humphrey Goodman couldn't help but stare at the pasty-faced man that lay before him with an ice pick puncturing his heart. What had happened here?  
"Richard, my old friend, what did you do to deserve this?"

* * *

"Are you sure he's got everything?" Jennifer Poole shot her husband a worried glance. She watched her son, almost dragging his suitcase across the platform floor, trying to heave its weight onto the metal trolley that was about to enter the train.

"He better had." Graham Poole grunted, before shrugging. His wife couldn't help but flick him an irritated glance.

"I do wonder sometimes if you actually care about him," Graham raised an eyebrow. "You're not... Not the most - erm - 'paternal' with our son." the answer was simple for him.

"Richard has to learn that life isn't a fairy tale," he retorted, somewhat indignant. "If the lad had any brain at all, we would've sent him to a local state school." he folded his arms dismissively, and Jennifer sighed - quiet enough so her husband didn't hear her, of course.

As for Richard, who was now rolling up the sleeves of his blazer - only because his parents had just so inconveniently got it two sizes bigger, so the thing was more of a long coat than a uniform jacket - he sank into a seat in one of the compartments. His mother was waving to him in the window, which was covered in frost and condensation. Richard didn't even acknowledge her, despite his mother's enthusiasm. His father just stood there, talking to a man in red uniform, a trolley full of suitcases at his side. Richard frowned. He remembered that his oversized blazer did have its positives, however. He drew out his book, Murder on the Orient Express, and flicked to his most recent page. He always read the page he had finished with when picking it up again, so he had a reminder of what had happened in the latest events. Richard was soon distracted as a tall, scruffy boy with even scruffier blonde hair stood at the entrance to his little compartment of solitude.

"Mind if I?"

"No, of... Of course!" Richard wafted a hand, slipping the book back into his blazer.

"Agatha Christie?" the other boy asked. Richard nodded, glad to know he wasn't the only one of his age - only eight - to appreciate the murder mystery genre.

"Sorry, I should introduce myself. Humphrey, Humphrey Goodman!" he grinned. Richard held out a hand.

"Richard Poole, nice to meet you." he only mumbled the last part. Humphrey raised an eyebrow at Richard's outstretched hand and sat down.

"Do you come from one of those really rich families? Have you met the Queen or something?" Richard exhaled heavily. Was the boy indeed this naive?

"Why would the Queen ever want to meet anyone on this train, let alone me?" Humphrey shrugged. Richard sighed again at his incompetence.

"My family could just about afford for me to come here. I'm the first to break the cycle!" chuckled Humphrey, and this, in particular, caught Richard's invitation.

"First to 'break the cycle'? Me too!" Richard couldn't help but smile. Humphrey held up the palm of his hands.

"High five?" Richard didn't even move.

"Right, right, posh or somethin'. Don't wanna mix with me." Richard laughed at the statement.

"Posh? God, my parents try." he sighed again and leant back in the seat. Humphrey was still grinning at him expectantly like a panting dog waiting for him to throw the stick.

"So, Richard, why did you want to come here?" Humphrey asked, trying to break the ice at least a little. The boy didn't make eye contact with him.

"I came here in reluctance," muttered Richard and Humphrey's eyes widened. "It was Dad's idea. Says I'm too unintelligent to go to a state school." he huffed and kicked the side of the compartment. He looked up at Humphrey. His smile was warm, which surprised him. He had never seen that sort of smile before. And yet it was infectious.

"So, where have you got up to?"

"Hmm?"

"The book?"

"Oh, yeah, it's actually my thirteenth time reading this. You?"

"Uhh, I actually only know the book because I read the title off of yours."

Richard put his head in his hands and sighed.


	3. The New Platform

I did originally post a different third chapter, but it just didn't work and was awful. Here's a short yet better than original chapter three!

(T_T) - me contemplating my decisions.

* * *

A boy ran into the compartment, sticking his head through the small doorway.

"Not too long now, guys!" he popped back out into his own compartment. Humphrey sprung up in his seat, tapping Richard on the shoulder repetitively, but he pulled away.

"What's up with you?" Humphrey asked, somewhat annoyed. Richard leant against the window. He was lost in thought - already homesick - with a headache provoking him further with every second that passed. There was a small draught from the window, making chills creep down his spine. Richard sniffed, shuddered, and shuffled further away from it.

"You really don't want to go, huh?" Humphrey smiled in apology for his previous tone. Richard shrugged.

"Guess I'm not entirely ready. What, being far away from home, strangers, hunting our own food-"

"What?" Humphrey raised an eyebrow, completely baffled by the statement. "They provide food there, you dingus." he hit Richard's arm lightly, and the boy couldn't help but suppress a smile.

"It's just, my Great Uncle gave me this little pocket knife. I'd got it into my head that we'd end up scavenging for food ourselves!" Humphrey chuckled, but Richard just sighed and leant back in his seat again. "I really am a dingus."

"Don't say that! If you're a dingus, what's that make me?" he chortled again.

"A bloody imbecile," muttered Richard, quiet enough so Humphrey was clueless to what he had said. However, if he had been louder, it probably wouldn't be any different in the eyes of his acquaintance. "Good job you're cheerful enough."

* * *

"Your suitcase." Humphrey handed it to him, and Richard struggled to get a proper hold of the thing.

"Thanks," he grunted. The two turned to a man in a light suit and tie who was trying to get the attention of all the boys.

"Everyone!" he demanded. "Please follow me! Off to the school grounds!" Humphrey gave Richard a little nudge, and he couldn't help but notice Humphrey grinning. He slapped Richard on the back - a little too hard for his liking - so he pulled away.

"Come on! Aren't you excited?" Richard just shrugged and Humphrey heaved a sigh. "Aren't you ever excited by _anything_?"

"Of course!" Humphrey raised an eyebrow. "I'm not joking!" Richard held his hands up in what he hoped Humphrey would take as insouciance.

"When?"

"Excuse me?"

"When are you ever excited about anything?" Richard shrugged.

"Whenever the newspaper comes in. When I get a new book. When Dad might, in fact, acknowledge my achievements-"

"You're a sad child."

"No..."

* * *

Ok, this chapter was pretty short. Next chapter is going to be further in time - a month or so later.

I realised that any parts before that would be boring to write so I thought since I'd be COMPLETELY DEMORALISED it just wouldn't be a good chapter (or more I don't know)


End file.
